


In Which Grantaire Wears Paint

by orphan_account



Series: La Maison d'ABC [7]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has a bit of red paint on his collarbone.  Enjolras finds himself unable to look away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Grantaire Wears Paint

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of came to mind when I was hanging out with a few of my friends and one of them had paint all over him, mostly on his collarbone, his fingers, and his cheekbone (and I had to restrain myself but it was so difficult). Also I have no idea why I decided to write this in present tense, but it was fun.  
> I sort of pictured Blagden!Grantaire but Brick!Enjolras -- so smaller, kind of feminine, blonde ponytail. You know. The works.

Grantaire is  _covered_ in paint.  Not even a smudge here and there, no.  He has brush strokes of it across his cheeks, down his arms, across his collarbone.  Even in his  _hair_.  It's bright red, like blood.  Enjolras wonders what he was working on.  Grantaire sends him a cheeky smile, and he realized he's stopped in the middle of a sentence to stare.  That damn collarbone, though . . .

"What in  _God's name_ happened to you?" he asks finally, letting his disbelief show.  Grantaire grins and plops into a chair by Courfeyrac.  

"I was working on a painting.  Well, more like a mural.  Well, more like an _illegal_ mural, but it looks good."  Enjolras swallows and looks away (with difficulty, he might add).

"Where?" Jehan asks curiously, leaning forward.

"On the side of the school.  There's a teacher who's staging an underground protest and he's encouraging us to stand up for what we believed in, so I did."  Grantaire shrugs and takes a swig from his flask.  "Not a big deal."

"You don't believe in anything," Enjolras points out, looking at Grantaire.  He looks . . . healthy, Enjolras supposes.  His eyes aren't red and he looks well-rested, which is unusual.  

"Oh, I beg to differ, Apollo," Grantaire retaliates, smiling.  The smile is bitter, though, and it stays in Enjolras's mind even after he looks away.  He hears a noise of protest from Grantaire -- it's a small whimper, and Enjolras can only imagine Grantaire making that sound for  _him --_ and when he turns around, Courfeyrac has stolen Grantaire's flask.  He sniffs it and then takes a sip.

"This is water."  Grantaire glares and holds out his hand.

"Yeah, shut up and give it back."  Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow.  

"You usually have vodka or some obscure shit in here.  Grantaire's cutting back on the alcohol . . . oh!  Grantaire, are you pregnant?" he asks teasingly, swirling the contents of the flask.  Grantaire groans and rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, Courf, because that's completely anatomically possible.  Just give it back."  Courfeyrac finally hands the flask back, and Grantaire's sleeve rides up.  There's something there, but Enjolras can't exactly see it.  There's paint on his hands, along his wrist, and dear  _god_ , his shirt is a little too short and there's paint on his hip bone.  Was the man painting  _shirtless?_

"We should get back to business," Enjolras says finally, tearing his eyes away from the multiple paint smears on Grantaire's skin.  Damn paint.  
  


The next day, when Enjolras passes the university, he spots Grantaire's illegal mural.  No one's noticed it yet, apparently, so he goes to look at it.  It's truly beautiful -- people, painted in blue and black, looking up at someone on a pedestal.  The figure is the only color in the painting, with a red coat and gold curls, his hand extended above his head, grasping a red flag.  It's  _him_.  Enjolras stares at the mural, completely awestruck.  He takes a few pictures of it on his phone and a few more with a professional camera he's been carrying around (for pamphlets, he insists).  

"You like it?"  Enjolras startles, dropping his water bottle and whirling around.  Grantaire's standing behind him, looking bemused.

"I . . . yeah, it's very cool."  

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."  Grantaire means for it to sound joking, but it comes out bitter.  

"Well, um . . . I'm sorry?"  Enjolras squints up at the taller man.  The sun's really bright, and he can't see very well.  

"Yeah, don't be.  I'm used to it."  

"So.  Um, was that really water the other day?"  Grantaire nods, running a hand through his hair.  That damn smudge of paint is still on his collarbone.

"Yep.  Decided I was enough of a burden on everyone already without the drinking added in."  There's an awkward silence after that, and then Enjolras says something.

"You're not a burden."  Grantaire snorts. 

"Right."  

"You really don't believe me?"  

"Nope."  Enjolras kisses him, full on the mouth, with as much force as he can muster.  He has to stretch up on his toes to reach Grantaire's mouth, but it's so worth it.  It takes Grantaire a minute, but he responds in kind, placing his hands on Enjolras's arms.  Enjolras runs a hand through the dark curls and if he knew kissing Grantaire would be like this, he never would have done anything except kiss Grantaire.   Eventually they break apart, and Grantaire's breathless and Enjolras is breathless and they're both breathless  _together_ , and that's what matters.  

Enjolras has never noticed, but Grantaire's eyes are a pale, icy blue rather than the dark blue he's always imagined them to be.  

"Finally!"  There are shouts from the building, and they look up.  Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Combeferre are leaning out of a second-floor window, chucking _rose petals_ at them

"I've just always wanted to throw flower petals at someone, sorry," Jehan calls, tossing another handful.  

"Took you fuckers long enough!" Courfeyrac yelled.  "And then you fucking  _make out_ at the fucking  _school_?!"  

Enjolras and Grantaire share a long-suffering look, and Enjolras notices that the red smear is still on Grantaire's collarbone.  Damn paint.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this turned a lot more angsty than I'd planned.


End file.
